


Silima's chains

by Lumeriel



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Background Character Death, Background Relationships, M/M, Quenya Names, Silmarils, This is me playing with the real magic inside that damn gems
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-09
Updated: 2017-12-09
Packaged: 2019-02-12 15:59:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,840
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12962982
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lumeriel/pseuds/Lumeriel
Summary: They said that Silmarils contained Trees' Light... Fools! What's the truth behind the greatest work of Fëanáro? Nolofinwë knows it.





	Silima's chains

**Author's Note:**

> Please, read, enjoy... and don't keep to yourself your opinion. I'm having a really bad day, so critics are welcome... just for making me work.

**I**  


“Oh! Look, Arakáno: Fëanáro is using the silmarilli.”  


The Grand Prince repeated the words of his sister inwardly, in a mocking tone. Oh the silmarilli, the imperishable work for which the Noldor would be eternally remembered in the songs of Valinor! Well, no songs were needed if those wonderful stones were destined to last forever. What a stupid thing. And while Fëanáro strutted jeweled like a marriageable maid, half the city had to walk to the other half to get water ... because all the damn artisans and metallurgists of Tirion were engaged in imitating the work of the greatest of the Noldor!  


“I see, little sister”, he said in a flat voice, without turning completely towards the direction in which the Crown Prince was with his cliq... his family. As if it were possible not to see those lamps that Fëanáro wore on his forehead.  
“Oh, they're beautiful.” Írien insisted, unable to look away from the gems held by a gold tiara. “Do you think Fëanáro agrees to lend them for my marriage ceremony?”  


This time Nolofinwë did not contain in time the short laugh that came to his lips. Then he drowned out his laughter and assumed again the imperturbable mask that constituted his public expression.  


“Why do not you ask him to loan you one of his children?” Nolofinwë suggested, without his tone betraying his malicious amusement. “I'm sure Tyelkormo will match your dress.”  


Írien turned slightly to observe him, frowning.  


“Sometimes I don’t know when you're serious, Arakáno”, she complained.  
“I'm always serious, little sister. It's ... my only ability. And Anairë constantly complains about it.”  
“I'm about to believe you hate the Silmarilli” Indis and Finwë's third daughter shook her head.  


His brother lowered his eyelids slightly, hiding the raging flash that crossed his blue silver eyes. Instead, a cold smile curved his lips as he said:  


“They are stones, Lalwen. How could I hate some stones?”  


She watched him for a few seconds still, hesitating. Finally, she turned to the rest of the party and murmured:  


“What I do not understand is how you cannot love them. They are perfect.”  
“They are stones”, he repeated, this time without being able to hide the bitterness in his voice. “And Curufinwë loves them enough for everyone.” He concluded while smiling to correspond to the greeting of one of the Masters of the Artists' Guild, a friend of Anairë whose name he could never remember.  


As he straightened up again, Nolofinwë met his half-brother's gaze on the other side of the room. Fëanáro's eyes were fixed on him, as if he had listened to all the previous conversation. With an effort, the second prince of Tirion barely bowed his head, greeting his brother and superior. Fëanáro did not move until Maitimo told him something that forced him to look away. Nolofinwë almost let out his breath audibly ... and at that very moment, a chill ran through him, writhing in his stomach in desperate nausea.

 **II**  


He stirred in the bed, impatiently kicking the sheet away from his body. A thin layer of perspiration covered his torso, shining the patterns on his shoulders and abdomen to the silver light that filtered through the curtains. Instinctively, he arched backward, rising slightly on his heels and back, tensing when a shudder ran through his skin. A soft moan escaped from parted lips and he raised an arm above his head to grab the pillow as he slid his other hand down his chest, stopping at a nipple already hard with excitement. He wriggled again, his hips flapping as his fingers trailed down his tense belly, playing a few seconds at the navel before circling the band of the nightwear. He moved his hand over the cloth, going through the hard prove of his desire. Valar, he was mad with need. He was so hard that he could cum right now, just with a few strokes of that tongue in...  


_Come here and let me make that fantasy come true, beautiful._  


The husky, sensual voice spilled over his head, tearing a gasp of lust and despair from him. But it was enough for him to wake up.  


Nolofinwë sat on the bed, panting shakily. With an anxious look he scanned the room as if he expected to find his tormentor in the slight shadows created by the furniture. When he checked that he was alone, he let out a sigh and collapsed back on the pillows.  


_What are you waiting for, love? I'm waiting for you in my bed... ready for you..._  


“Enough!” Nolofinwë hissed, covering his ears with his hands as if that way he could silence the voice that whispered in his head. “Leave me alone once.”  


_Never, my star. Do not resist: you are craving it as much as I am. Come, little one; come to me._  


“Do not!” the prince roared, jumping out of bed. “I will not continue with this ... this madness.”  


_Honey, I can feel your desire as I feel mine_ , mocked the sensual voice, more and more similar to the purring of a huge cat. _Come here, love. I'm burning for you ... ah, Nolvo!, I'm longing to kiss those creepers in your belly, down to your cock ... you're hard for me, right, love? I can feel you right now: you're so deliciously hard that it's almost ... almost torture..._  


“It's torture! Stop doing this to me.” Nolofinwë almost sobbed helplessly, furiously watching his insistent erection.  


_What do I do to you, precious little boy?_ Insisted the voice. _Do I drive you crazy with desire? I ignite your skin and your spirit like no female has ever done? Do I make you want to scream my name while you come in my mouth? Come, Nolvo, let me satisfy your need. Let me take you in my mouth, let my tongue run your cock..._  


Nolofinwë gasped, his cock flailing at the sensual images, his mouth ajar as if offered to the kiss of the other. A shudder ran down his spine and on an impulse, he reached under his pants to grab his cock. The simple contact took away a guttural moan and he knew that he would ejaculate in a matter of scarce caresses.  


_Oh beautiful, do not do that, please! Do not be selfish, Nolofinwëya. Come: run over me, in me ... for me._  


The intervention cut off any intention of Nolofinwë to move forward. With a hiss of disgust, he withdrew his hand and strode to a table with drinks. He poured a glass of wine to the edges and emptied it with a gulp.  


_Nolvo,_ he crooned in his head now. As the prince did not answer, busy emptying a second glass of wine, the voice insisted, almost with the tone of a spoiled child: _Precious, you are making us both suffer. Telerin wine will not calm what you feel: I will. You know that only I can satisfy you._  


“You never shut up?” He roared between his teeth. “I will not continue with this ... crap. I do not want to touch you anymore. I do not want you to touch me.”  


For a few minutes there was silence and Nolofinwë exhaled slowly, believing that the madness had finally come to an end.  


_Why?_  


On this occasion, the tone was serious, almost concentrated. Nolofinwë hesitated, wetting his lips as he drew the edge of the glass with the tip of his index finger, forcing himself to ignore the lingering excitement that almost made his sex ache.  


“Why what?” he asked in turn.  


_Why do not you want to continue with our relationship?_  


“There is no such relationship. You dragged me to this. You tied me to you like a fucking slave. You use me and possess me as if I were an object...”  


_You are my most precious treasure, my star. You're tied to me for love. I think it's been a long time since I reminded you of what's between us. Come, Nolofinwë, now!_  


A flash of heat ran through the elf's body. Everything in him burned - skin, entrails, bones, blood, nerves, spirit. Nothing remained that was not swept away by the order that aroused a part of his being that he always kept under control. The glass fell from his hand when he bent over himself, stifling a moan of pain and desire.  


_Nolofinwë, come to me now! I have been too patient this time. I want you right now._  
Indis's son fell to his knees - fists clenched in his lap, eyes clenched - in a vain attempt to resist the force that dragged him to obey.  


“No...” he mused. The only answer was a soft laugh, tinged with passion and mockery in equal measure.

 **III**  


Fëanáro took a deep breath, filling his lungs with the fresh air that accompanied the Telperion hours. The silence of the palace betrayed that everyone was resting ... or almost everyone, he corrected in his mind with a half-smile while he perceived in a corner of his mind the white heat of the soul of his eldest son. It was easy to guess what kept him awake: Findekáno had spent all the dancing fooling around with the daughter of one of the Telerin ambassadors ... As if responding to his suspicions, the blue glow that radiated from his nephew's fëa rumbled around Nelyo's soul, the perfect imitation of a passionate moan.  


Fëanáro's smile widened: it was really easy to imagine his beautiful son holding his equally beautiful nephew. He knew both well. He had seen them naked in a lot of occasions. He had shared with them days of hunting, training, partying ... With all certainty, if Findekáno had been the son of another Noldo, he would not have hesitated to compete with Nelyo for his preference. However, his nephew looked too much like Nolofinwë when he was young.  


A wave of lust and power poured down the silent corridors of the palace. Fëanáro breathed slowly, allowing the mixed essences of both youths to pass through him. If he did not have other plans for the next few hours, he could be distracted by spying on the couple. Based on the pulsations, he could clearly draw the image of Findekáno astride Nelyo's lap, rising and falling on his cousin's erection, head thrown back, loose black curls...  


A beat of light in one of the silmarilli interrupted his imaginations. Instinctively, he put a hand to the jewels on his forehead and stroked the one in the center - the largest, similar to a tear - that at that moment gave off an intense silver glow. The light of Telperion, they all affirmed: idiots! It could not be farther from the truth.  


The light of the silmaril diminished until it was the usual glow and at the same time, Fëanáro sat up on the bed, fixing his eyes on the door of the bedroom. Just a moment later, the door opened from the outside and someone entered with a hectic step to stop in front of the bed.  


The Crown Prince's smile widened, showing the perfect teeth in a joyous welcome.  


"You came," he said, lightly chewing on his lower lip as he ran with an avid look at his visitor.  
"As if I could help it," growled Nolofinwë, his eyes darkened with rage.

 **IV**  


[One hundred years ago]  


“What is an alloy?”  
“It is the homogeneous solid mixture of two or more metals, or one or more metals with non-metallic elements.”  
“I see.” The boy was silent for a few seconds, watching with concentrated expression as the adult twisted the piece of metal. “What is homo... humo... homogyny?”  
“Homogeneous”, corrected the blacksmith, with an impatient gesture. “It means that you mix the elements in a uniform way to obtain an element with better qualities. That is, to take advantage of the best of the initial elements.”  
“I see”, said the boy again, nodding thoughtfully.  


The elf looked up from his work to see him hitting his lower lip with his index finger, as if he were analyzing the explanation. He had to make an effort not to burst out laughing: in those moments he looked like a caricature of his name. A very cool caricature, without a doubt; but…  


“Like when mamil and atto made me”, said the boy suddenly, with his face lit up.  
"What?” almost shouted the craftsman and the piece of metal slipped into the fire. He let out a hiss of irritation; but he turned to look at the boy. “What did you say, Nolvo?”  
“Like when Mamil and Atto made me. They said that they had put the best of each one to create me, so ... as they put the same amount of qualities and I got the best of both, I am a homo… homogeneous mixture of them. I am an alloy.”  
“You are not an alloy, Nolofinwë”, Fëanáro retorted on the verge of exploding in laughter.  
“ I'm solid and I'm ...”  
“You are not homogenous. If you look, you'll see that you look more like father: you have his hair, his nose, the shape of his eyes, his chin...  
“But I have the ears of mamil, her curls, her mouth ...” he added, making a pout that stretched his lips to show his point to his older brother.  


This time Fëanáro laughed and extended a hand, grabbed the child by the chin to shake him affectionately as he approached his face.  


“Yeah. You have the mouth of your mother, little freak.” He admitted before sliding his soot-stained thumb down the little boy's full lower lip. “And your eyes? Whose are precious star eyes?”  
“Yours”, Nolofinwë laughed amused. He had played this game a lot of times.  
“That's right”, Fëanáro nodded, moving his hand to delineate the black eyebrows. "These beautiful eyes are mine”, and he leaned down to put his lips on the closed eyelids of his younger brother.

 **V**  


[Present]

Fëanáro removed the sheet that up to that moment covered the lower part of his body and showed all his glorious anatomy without any garment to watch over it. All his skin had an exquisite golden hue, gained by dint of swimming naked in the artificial lake that he built in his residence in Formenos. The straight black hair fell loose until it touched the pillows, covering his back, only touched by the red gold tiara that held the silmarilli.  


Nolofinwë's gaze traveled through his half-brother’s body, purposely ignoring the sex that half-rose between muscular thighs, and stopped at the gems. A grimace of anger twitched the sensual mouth of Finwë's second son.  


“Cannot you sleep without those damn things?”  


Fëanáro's smile was almost beatific as he brought a hand to the jewel to stroke the central stone.  


“It's as if you were always with me ... little boy” he said in a low tone, hoarsely voluptuous.  


Nolofinwë tried to get away; but his eyes followed the passage of the fingertips through the facets of the stone. His lips parted and a shudder shook his limbs as a moan came from his throat. With an effort, he closed his eyes tightly and emitted a kind of impotent roar.  


“Enough!”, he demanded. “I'm already here. You already have me. Now ... now, stop playing with me, please, Curufinwë.”  
“Oh, little brother; but it is so delicious to play with you” laughed Fëanáro, rejoicing at the younger's reaction. “As for what you said ... yes, you're here; but I still do not have you. Come, Nolvo.”  


Nolofinwë observed the outstretched hand as if it were a snake that was ready to attack. Clenching his jaw, he opened the silk dressing gown to cover himself before leaving his room and let it fall to the floor. Without further ceremony, he climbed to the bed and knelt beside his half-brother, hovering over him with his larger height and shoulder width.  


The Crown Prince looked up, fascinated, wetting his lips as if anticipating a banquet. He reached out and traced the drawings on his brother's left breastplate with his fingertips, descending slowly down the side, pressing to feel the ribs beneath the mass of tense muscles. Nolofinwë showed no sign of his reaction to the exploration and Fëanáro bent down to press a kiss under the nipple.  


“I've missed you, precious”, he murmured against the icy skin before giving a slow lick until he took the button between his teeth.  


Nolofinwë tightened his jaws, clenching his fists until he dug his nails into his flesh.

 **VI**  


[Years ago]

“What do you think I should use? The white cloth or the blue one?”  


Fëanáro looked up from the book to see the two outfits stretched out on the bed a few inches from where he was resting the heels of his boots.  


“Would you explain to me again what you're supposed to do?” he asked instead of answering.  
“I will receive the children of King Olwë” reported for the fifth time that morning Nolofinwë, leaving the bathroom with wet hair falling in curls to his waist.  
“Why does not Rúmil do that? He's the Protocol Master, isn’t he?”  
“And I am the son of the king. The princes of Alqualondë are more or less my age, so father thought it would be a good idea to relate to them...”  
“I see. Where will you receive them?” Míriel's son asked again, following the boy with his look as he went to the closet to look for his underwear.  
“We're going to meet halfway between the two cities. We will ride...”  
“That discards the white clothes. Olwë's sons will believe that my father sent the stables’ boy to meet them," he said, raising an eyebrow.  


Nolofinwë half turned, laughing at his occurrence. He bent down again to look for the missing pieces and returned to bed, dropping the piece of cloth that surrounded his hips midway. He stopped in front of the clothes, twisting his lower lip to bite absentmindedly.  


“How about wearing the blue pants and vest with the white shirt and girdle?”  
“Ok. And, what jewelry will you use with that exquisite vanyarin combination?” Fëanáro arched his eyebrows.  
“The bracelets of lapislazuli that you gave me last year”, shrugged Nolofinwë.  
“Do they still fix you?”  
“A little tight” recognized the boy, leaving the clothes to cross to the dressing table and rummage in the chest of jewels to find the mentioned garments.  


Fëanáro got up and went after him. Nolofinwë was quite tall for a teenager; but still his older brother overcame him, covering him with his shadow. Fëanáro's gaze followed the hands of long fingers that rummaged in the pile of clothes - almost all his work - and then turned to the image in the mirror.  


“Here they are” breathed Nolofinwë, relieved. “For a moment I was afraid that Lalwen had taken them: I don't know what happens to that little girl with the jewels.”  
“They do not attach you” growled Fëanáro, raising a hand to remove the jewels and return them to the box.  
“They're blue”, half smiled the teenager. “Like my eyes.”  
“Your eyes are not that blue.” replied the other and now his hand was on the boy's shoulder, pushing back the wet curls to discover the white neck. “Do not you think about combing this mess?”  
"I expected you to have compassion on me and comb my hair," suggested Nolofinwë, his full lips curling in an inexplicably flirtatious pout.  


Fëanáro's eyes were inevitably to the rose of his mouth and a warm sensation ran through his veins. He swallowed, recognizing the emotion that was pulling at his stomach.  
“I have so much compassion for you that I'm going to give you new jewelry.”  
“Seriously? Are you going to give me some rings for the nipples?” The boy joked. “I think Laurefindë has some. I have to look closer the next time we go to the bathrooms.”  
“Is that for what you go to the training arena?” Fëanáro barked, irritated. “To look at the other males?”  
“N-no”, he blushed. “That's not what I meant...”  
“It's normal, you know? Is the age.” explained the older, forcing him to turn a little to take him by the chin and watch him closely. “Do you like someone?”  


Nolofinwë shook his head, increasingly flushed. Fëanáro studied him with bright eyes, as if he wanted to read in his soul.  
“Have you caressed yourself thinking about someone, boy?” He asked again, almost sweetly.  
“I haven’t!” the boy was shocked. “Never! I do not…”  
“ Do you know how to do it?”  


For a moment, Nolofinwë was stunned. He was not sure what his brother was asking him ... or why he was asking. Finally, he shook his head slowly, embarrassed.  


Fëanáro bit his tongue to not let out a scream of euphoria. Virgin. Totally virgin and pure. Nolofinwë remained totally immaculate.  


Slowly, he forced the boy to turn around so that he was facing the mirror and had him lean his back on his chest. He settled down to place his mouth at Nolofinwë's bare ear and slid his hands down the sides of his thin torso.  


“Then, precious” he whispered, "it's time for you to learn. You only look this time ... is it okay?”  


Nolofinwë nodded, eyes wide. Fëanáro hid his satisfied smile in his brother's hair and kissed the slightly bent neck. He moved one hand, drawing circles on his hip while the other traced a line in the lower part of his belly, circling the pelvis. He felt the boy's muscles contract and he took the opportunity to kiss the entire curve of his throat to the warm skin beneath his ear. He took the lobe between his teeth and pulled gently. Nolofinwë made a noise between complaint and moan, and Fëanáro displaced the hand that played in the pelvis to cross with a diaphanous contact the sex, finding it half hard. He continued stroking the boy's cock, from top to bottom, imagining what it would be like to take it in his mouth, lick and suck until Nolvo came moaning his name. Excited by the fantasies, he had to control the urge to strip his own sex and take his half-brother without further ado. He surrounded Nolofinwë's cock with his hand and began a slow, monotonous rhythm, forcing himself to concentrate only on the reactions of the youthful body. After a few moments, Nolofinwë stirred in his arms, following the rhythm of his fist as well as thrusting into him. Fëanáro increased his speed and strength, savoring the pain that his brother's nails caused him to sink into his forearm. Nolofinwë tensed, bending backward like a bow and uttered a desperate moan before his first orgasm soaked his half-brother’s fingers and impacted the mirror in front of them. Fëanáro did not lose any detail of the adolescent's ecstasy, his hungry gaze following each shot of milky liquid, his lungs filled with the aroma of a new male, his mouth yearning to sate himself with the pleasure of Nolofinwë. When the boy lay limp in his chest, he kissed him gently, instinctively pressing his erection on his butt and hugging him fully to bring his hand to his lips. Nolofinwë tilted his face to see Fëanáro lick the fluids that sprang from his sex what if they were the most exquisite of the wines. He wondered if one day he would want to do that, if he would want to devour someone's seed. Relegating the thoughts for a moment when his brain was clearer, he chose to take Fëanáro by the chin and force him to turn to press his lips against his.

 **VII**  


[Present]

Fëanáro let go of the nipple when the other male growled drowned. He kissed a line until the slight collapse between the pectorals and descended to the navel, to sink the tongue into the small hole. His fingers traced blindly the vines that came down to his groin, stopping when he touched the waistband of his light pants. Nolofinwë's erection tensed the fabric and Fëanáro thought about how easy it would be to make him ejaculate now, with only a few caresses: after all, he had been playing for days now with the reactions of his body, with his mind ... Nolofinwë was at the limit of his control ... and he, too, admitted to feeling the contractions of his own sex. He had spent so much time away this time. It had been so long since he really had Nolofinwë ... But for that reason he wanted it to last longer, to last for hours. He wanted all the hours of Telperion to drink and devour the body and essence of his half-brother.  


As if guessing his intentions, Nolofinwë modulated an unintelligible protest and sank a hand in the loose hair of Fëanáro to pull him to his mouth. He kissed him roughly, biting his lower lip until blood touched his tongue. The Crown Prince gasped, surrounding him with his arms and digging his nails into his back, pressing the hot sex against the tense body of the youngest. Nolofinwë pushed him away and for a second, Fëanáro had the vision of those eyes darkened by anger and hatred, his own blood painting his lower lip ... and he lunged at him like a hungry beast.  


Nolofinwë was more agile, turning before the strong arms caught him while pushing the clothes down his thighs. They fell together in bed, Fëanáro on top of his brother, one leg working its way between hard thighs, two fingers searching for the narrow entrance ...  


The son of Indis did not react to the rough penetration that sought to prepare him and only managed to hurt him. All that mattered was the pressure of his own body against the silk sheets, trapping his cock, causing it to be almost on the edge. In a few moments, the torture would have ended.  


Fëanáro roared furiously as he felt the shudders of the body beneath him.  


“No!” he ordered; but he knew that he could not stop his lover's reactions.  


Impatient and irritated, he pushed his fingers away and positioned himself. With one thrust, he sank halfway into Nolofinwë's body. A pulse of energy ran through him, exploding in the silmarilli and a moan came from his half-open mouth. He backed up almost to abandon him and attacked the burning tightness again, this time his pelvis hitting the buttocks of Nolofinwë, his testicles brushing the sensitive area between the sphincter and the scrotum of the youngest. Instinctively, he dug his fingers into Nolofinwë's hip and with his other hand he encircled his throat as he buried his face in his hair to put out the moan that shook his limbs. With an effort, breathing wildly, he sat up while pulling the other to kneel.  


Nolofinwë allowed himself to be manipulated, his teeth clenched so as not to vocalize his protest, fingers curled in silk. Fëanáro settled down without leaving his body and started the swing that took the cock to the edge before sinking completely. The only thing that tempered the anger of the younger elf was that his brother would not last long in this way: Fëanáro was driven mad by having him on his knees, subjected to him, tensing around his phallus. As if confirming his thoughts, Míriel's son moaned scandalously and lost the rhythm, his erratic attacks doing very little to bring pleasure to his partner. In a remnant of consciousness, Fëanáro's hand snaked around Nolofinwë's waist as he leaned to support the torso on his back.  


“Come with me, my beauty”, he gasped in his ear. “Come for me, my star.”  


Nolofinwë thought that he would like to be a wolf in some moments. Right now, for example, he would spin and shatter his half-brother’s throat with a bite. In his mind the image of Fëanáro bathed in blood was drawn and his cock trembled violently in the grip of those long, elegant, rough fingers.  


Fëanáro moaned when Nolofinwë's semen soaked his hand. His left fingers were still around his brother's throat and he pressed lightly as he squinted, losing himself in the final thrusts. The ecstasy shook his body and as he was ejaculating inside Nolofinwë, he felt the light of the gems intensify until it was almost painful.  


He dropped on his side, pulling Nolofinwe to be in his arms.

 **VIII**  


[Years ago]

Nolofinwë fought in vain to free himself from the hands that unzipped his clothes.  


“Maitimo or Lalwen can enter at any time”, protested while raising a hand to catch the hair collected in braids. “Curufinwë, please...”  


His brother ignored his complaints, pushing him against the table until he forced him to sit down after opening his fly. Despite his words, the boy was already half hard with anticipation. In fact, he had been half hard since Maitimo announced that his father was on his way.  


Fëanáro took a few seconds to kiss the white neck, naked from the black curls that were now collected by a silver comb and by a string of telerin pearls that kept the rebellious mane decently controlled in a ponytail that went down to the waist. Meanwhile, his fingers traced the half-hard cock of the adolescent, reveling in the certainty that it was he who provoked that reaction. His own sex vibrated in tight leather pants.  


Nolofinwë bit his lower lip to stifle a groan as his brother's fingers encircled his member and with a few caresses, he was taken to the peak of excitement. With narrowed eyes, he watched Fëanáro step back just enough to drop to his knees in front of him. They had done this a lot of times - usually in their bedroom or on their trips to the woods; never in a place as public as the library of the palace -; nevertheless, each time Nolofinwë was still fascinated by the sensual movements with which his older brother licked his cock from the base to the tip, lingering in the tight skin under the head; then he descended again to suck and nibble his testicles before retiring; then Fëanáro took only the tip of the cock between his lips, sucking and tasting, pressing his tongue into the hole until the first drops of precum spilled... At that moment, the eldest devoured his partner's sex and the real pleasure began.  


The boy threw his head back, his fingers twitching in the braids, his mouth modulating a silent scream. It had been months since Fëanáro left and any game in the baths of the training arena could not be equated with the pleasure he provoked in his hroa and his fëa. His father had been very specific about it: he could play with all the male partners he wanted, learn from them; but nothing of dabbling with girls or being taken by any of his training friends. However, Fëanáro was not a training friend. A chill ran down the boy's spine: he had been thinking for months that maybe he should tell his brother, that maybe he should confess that for some time he was feeling another hunger when he was in his company... The thoughts were shattered in Nolofinwë's brain. His body arched as if to break and in a residue of consciousness, he pressed a hand to his mouth; as this was not enough to quell the moan that emerged from his throat, he bit his forearm by squeezing his eyelids.  


Fëanáro sat up to support his brother. The sweet taste of his pleasure filled his mouth, intoxicating him like Telerin wine on party nights. Nolofinwë was delicious and Fëanáro was willing to take everything, to possess him until the boy could only breathe his breath, drink his essence, moan against his body. He picked him up and went down slowly to deposit him on the floor, on the green and gold carpet. Nolofinwë remained half stunned by the recent orgasm; but when Fëanáro let go of the trouser ties, his rosy eyelids fluttered and rose to reveal the illuminated eyes.  


The hands of the Crown Prince were immobilized while his attention was trapped - once again - in that blue silver gaze, now resplendent as if stars nested at the bottom of those precious eyes. Fëanáro loved the way his brother's eyes lit when he reached ecstasy, and that light used to remain in his gaze for hours, so that Fëanáro could then, during dinner, look at his little brother and know that pleasure still ran through his body. Only with that thought, the craftsman could come now, dreaming of the possibility of looking at those starry eyes during the meal. However, Nolofinwë half rose and finished releasing Fëanáro's erection. Slowly, humbly, almost with excessive sweetness, he lowered his head and dispensed to his brother the same treatment he received before. Fëanáro threw back his head and buried a hand in the teen's hair, guiding him in the cadence he wanted. It was a matter of minutes before the ecstasy hit him like a gale of fire.  


Nolofinwë forced himself to remain in his place. Although at first times he had recoiled in disgust when Fëanáro's seed filled his mouth, now he appreciated the strong flavor of his brother, enjoyed the power of his shots and when he stopped pumping in his mouth, the boy took a few seconds to lick the half-soft cock, greedily picking up any rest that escaped his throat when swallowing. Finally, Nolofinwë withdrew to lie on the carpet, his eyes fixed on Fëanáro's ecstatic face. The blacksmith's fingers massaged his hair with something similar to tenderness. Then, Fëanáro opened his eyes with a satisfied sigh and looked down. A smile curved his sensual mouth.  


"You're gorgeous, my star," he commented and ran a finger down the teen's lower lip. “One day, I'm going to make some gems with the light of your eyes when you come for me."  


Nolofinwë smiled, excited, love fluttering in his chest.

 **IX**  


[Present]

Nolofinwë disengaged himself from his half-brother’s body, trying to sit on the bed while pulling up his pants.  


“Where are you going?” Fëanáro purred, sitting up on one elbow to extend a hand and slide it along the younger's side.  
“We're finished here” said Nolofinwë, dodging his contact as if it burned him.  
“Who says, precious?” the other smiled and stood to support his weight on the back of Nolofinwë. “We have many hours still and you were provoking me during the whole party.”  
“I did not provoke you”, roared the son of Indis, turning abruptly to show him his teeth in a furious grimace. “I never provoke you. I do not want your attention. I do not want your caresses.”  
“You lie, my love.” Fëanáro scoffed. “You want everything I give you ... and more. You always want more. You were laughing with Írien, looking at me ... Why do you laugh with her and not with me? Why do you look at me if you do not want me?  
“Because I hate you!” Nolofinwë exploded and his hands shot out to surround his half-brother’s throat. As soon as he touched him again, the center's silmaril flickered and a flurry of lust hit the elf's nerves. “Look what you have done to me!” he moaned, desperate, falling forward to press his forehead against Fëanáro’s. “How could I not hate you ... my brother?”  


Fëanáro did not respond. Standing up, he joined his lips to Nolofinwë’s, who answered him furiously, with biting and drowned roars; nevertheless, Fëanáro caressed him with sweetness, as if he domesticated a wild beast. After a few minutes, the youngest let out an inarticulate sound and abandoned himself to the tenderness of the Crown Prince.  


The son of Míriel smiled triumphantly, without leaving the mouth that kissed sinuously. He pushed Nolofinwë back to the bed and made him lie on his back. He began by kissing the whole expressionless face, drawing the black arched eyebrows, the clear temples, the eyelids still sprinkled with lapis lazuli, the proud nose, the high cheekbones, the curve of the almost square jaw... Fëanáro descended by the throat that was offered to his exploration. He ran his hands and lips over his shoulders, running his fingers down his left arm to entangle their hands and bring them to his lips; then kissed the loose knuckles one by one and licked the inside of the wrist, where a white scar - always hidden by the bracelets - remembered one of Nolofinwë's attempts to break free of his bond with him. Fëanáro remembered that day: he remembered the blood, the limp body of his half-brother, the reproach in the blue eyes of Findis, the fear... fear of losing him too; but then Nolofinwë had opened his eyes (without light, without life; but, still his precious eyes) and he only murmured as now _"I hate you"_. But Fëanáro knew that this was not true. Nolofinwë loved him. Deep in his soul, his brother loved him. Fëanáro knew it: the Silmarilli remembered him all the time.  


He left Nolofinwë's hands only to walk with his lips parted over the striated abdomen, drawing with his tongue the slight relief of the tattoos. He bit into the apex between his thigh and body, sucking until the other elf emitted a hiss of protest; then he turned away knowing that tomorrow there would be a brand there. He descended along the soft testicles, dodging the sleeping sex. He put his arms under his thighs to raise them and slid his tongue between the hard buttocks, searching for his own essence in the passage of his lover.  


Nolofinwë remained motionless, allowing himself to be maneuvered like a puppet, his libido appeased for the moment, so it only remained for Fëanáro to finally get fed up for today. His half-brother’s tongue was at first cold at his entrance, making him wince uncomfortably; but the breath quickly heated his body and soon he was barely aware of the licks and light intrusions. Those who claimed that Fëanáro was a skilled linguist had no fucking idea that they were telling the truth, laughed Nolofinwë inside.  


“What is so funny?” Fëanáro questioned raising his head to observe him with pupils dilated with passion.  


Nolofinwë watched him through the long lashes, languidly.  


“People have no idea who you are” he replied in a thick voice. “What you are capable of doing.”  
“But you do”, replied the older brother. “You do know what I am capable of doing for love.”  
“Love,“ repeated Nolofinwë and turned his head to not see him. “Your love is not something I would have chosen for myself. Your love is a prison.”  
“A very beautiful prison, beautiful; just as befits a bird as beautiful as you are”, laughed Fëanáro already with his mouth again against the skin of his lover.  


The son of Indis took a breath to answer something sharp; but at that moment the lips of his tormentor gently wrapped the testicles and for a brief moment, Nolofinwë was back in a world in which he still believed in Fëanáro's love.

 **X**  


[Years ago]

Nolofinwë entered his bedroom as he began to unzip his vest. He had barely two hours to take a bath and get ready for dinner. He really had lost track of time in the sand that afternoon, he acknowledged with a half-smile recalling Laurefindë's happy and joyful expression after...  


The door slammed him into place and Fëanáro was on him. Instinctively, he lifted his face to receive his brother's kiss; but, instead of kissing him, the Crown Prince grabbed him by the lapels of his shirt and studied him with shining eyes. Nolofinwë frowned, bewildered, when his brother released him with a hiss of impatience and left to walk furiously around the room.  


“Fëanáro?” The boy called him, using his maternal name. “What happen? Why…?”  
“Did you think I would not notice?” the older elf roared, turning like a wounded beast. “Did you think I would not know, Nolofinwë?  
“What…?”  


The voice died on his lips when Fëanáro jumped on him. A hand closed in his hair, pulling painfully to drag him in front of the mirror.  


“Your eyes, you damn bastard!” he barked. “Your eyes are shining as when...!”  


The sentence broke in a groan of suffering and Fëanáro buried his face in his shoulder, his body agitated by tremors. Nolofinwë looked at his image in the mirror, so close that his vision almost blurred; but yes, there they were: the silver flashes in his blue eyes ... the same silver flashes that Fëanáro loved to see in his eyes when they had been together. Fëanáro knew, he understood; his brother knew what he had done with Laurefindë. He knew he had given his pleasure to another man. However, it was not the same. He did not care about Laurefindë ... not like Fëanáro, anyway. He loved his brother. That was what really mattered. Fëanáro knew it... or maybe not?

He opened his mouth to explain; but Fëanáro straightened up and with a violent gesture, threw him to the bed. Nolofinwë landed facedown, stunned. He turned to look at his older brother and for a moment, saw him hesitate, closing and unclenching his fists on either side of his body, his head bent over one shoulder, his eyelids clenched.  


“ Do you know what you did, Nolofinwë?” Fëanáro questioned, with an icy tone.  
“It's not like you ...”  
“You betrayed me.” continued Fëanáro, ignoring his words. “You stole me. Your pleasure belongs to me, Nolofinwë. The light of your eyes when you reach the climax belongs to me. You belong to me. You cannot ... You cannot give to another what belongs to me. You cannot take that away from me. I will not tolerate it, little kid.”  


The young elf was petrified sitting on the bed. He had seen Fëanáro furious; but until that day, he had never received that anger. What would that mean for their ... relationship? He noticed that his brother had spoken and blinked, coming back to reality.  


“ What?”  
“Undress yourself”, repeated Fëanáro, coldly. “I'm going to claim you now.”  


The cold of Helcaraxë descended on Nolofinwë. Reclaim? Yes, they had talked about this; but Nolofinwë had expected it to happen in the heat of passion between them, a logical step in his love; not as a ... punishment.  


“Curufinwë, please”, he started, swallowing dry, “it's not ... the best time. We must go down in a while and...”  
“Undress yourself, child”, the older ordered between teeth. A flash crossed his gaze. “Or do not you want me to see your lover's marks on you?”  
“What? No! There are no marks! I did not ... It was not like that. We just ...”  
“I do not want to hear it!” Fëanáro roared, pouncing on him, trapping him against the mattress with all his weight, his fingers like claws digging into his flesh. “I do not want to know how that fucking bastard gave you pleasure. I do not want to know how you gave it to him. After today, nobody else will be able to touch you without me knowing it. And I'll tear anyone who puts a finger on you, Nolofinwë. I will tear you apart if you dare to betray me again.” His breathing became increasingly choppy in the vicinity of the young elf. “You are mine, little beauty. You are my star.”  


In spite of himself, Nolofinwë arched in the possessive journey of the hands that opened his clothes and touched his skin, in the mouth that bit and kissed, blessed and marked. His sex trembled, half hard, when Fëanáro undressed him and bent to lick him. But his brother did not want to waste time in tenderness this time: standing on his knees, Fëanáro let go the ties of his hose and released his rigid cock. With turbid eyes of passion, he tugged Nolofinwë's pants halfway down his thighs and grabbed the boy by the waist, turned him around.  


Nolofinwë was awakened. Fear displaced any excitement that previous strokes brought to his blood.  


“Fëanáro, wait!” he begged, trying to sneak away; but the blacksmith's hands caught him. “Let's talk about this. This is not how we had planned it. Fëanáro, please, listen to me.” A hand of Fëanáro grasped his wrists together on his back and immediately felt the pressure in his entrance. “Fëanáro, you cannot ... Please, brother!”  


The last word was torn in a cry of pain.  


Nolofinwë returned from the darkness with his brother's moans rumbling in his ear, his hot breath burning his lips, his body thrusting inside. Now he lay on his back and beyond the other elf he could see the ceiling of his bedroom with constellations of encrusted gems: Fëanáro had put them there when he was barely learning to walk. He hissed slightly when Fëanáro's cock touched a point inside him. Fëanáro sat up on his knees, holding him under his thighs to lift him from the bed and dig deeper into him. The young elf saw the sweaty torso of his half-brother, saw the grooves of semen in his belly and realized that it was **his semen**. Really? To such a degree had Fëanáro power over him that he could...? A deeper moan tensed the older elf's body and the thrusts became erratic as he pulled him against his hips. Finally, in an onslaught, Fëanáro fully fitted into his passage and a tremor shook him as his head fell backward, his mouth half-open in ecstasy. Later, Nolofinwë would wonder how nobody had come to find out what was happening: Fëanáro's moans could have been heard in Taniquetil itself, and the worst was the things that he was moaning while he was so profusely ejaculating that Nolofinwë was aware of the fluids spilling from his sphincter to the sheets.  


The Crown Prince let go of his brother's legs and dropped by his side, breathing agitated, fëa and hroa floating in the mist of ecstasy that snatched him from reality. After a moment, he sat up on one elbow and hovered over his lover to take him by the face and kiss him languidly.  


“I love you” he confessed in Nolofinwë’s mouth, stroking his cheek almost fiercely. “Say you love me, Nolofinwë. I want to hear you say it. Say you love me, precious.  


Nolofinwë pressed his lips together; but suddenly...  


“I love you “, the words had come from Eru knew where because he did not feel them . “I love you ... brother” It was the only sign of rebellion that he managed to handle. But Fëanáro only smiled, amazed, before kissing him with passion.

 **XI**  


[Present]

With low eyelids, Nolofinwë floated a few minutes in the memories of a time when sex with Fëanáro was glorious, in which it still passed for a show of love. Love! What kind of love brought two brothers to bed? What kind of dark curse turned brotherly love into desire and lust? What madness chained two souls that should never have touched in this way? And yet, he had believed that what Fëanáro offered was 'love'. Until he understood the truth.  


A choked gasp shook him when Fëanáro took his sex in his mouth, hardening it with the skill of the tongue that caressed and pressed.  


Fëanáro tasted the increasing rigidity of his lover. He loved owning Nolofinwë in this way. But he knew he would not let him cum like that. He had other plans. It had been months since he last got his brother long enough to enjoy him and taste him in every way possible. Generally, Nolofinwë managed to resist his call until there was only time to be he who took it. When he finally came to meet him, Nolofinwë managed to turn his encounter into a quick fuck, giving him his back and as soon as they both finished, he dressed and fled without looking back. However, sometimes Fëanáro managed to retain him, he managed to impose his rules. With all his other lovers - occasional of course - the Crown Prince was the one in charge; with Nolofinwë, however, and despite the bond between them - more powerful than the existing ones with their respective wives - Fëanáro was the supplicant. It might seem the other way around because it was always he who initiated the seduction, who exercised the power of the bond, who possessed the key to Nolofinwë's soul; but he would have preferred a thousand times not to have to use that resource, that - at least once - Nolofinwë came to him voluntarily.  


The first drops of the essence of Nolofinwë spilled into the mouth of his half-brother, who stepped back slowly, only to retain the tip of the cock between his lips.  


A growl rose from the younger brother's throat when his phallus was exposed to the silver air of Telperion, free from the mouth that provoked and adored him. He opened his eyes and found Fëanáro's mischievous look, who was watching him on his knees between his legs, his hands on his thighs.  


“Now what?” barked.  
“I love you, little boy” smiled Míriel's son.  
"No matter how hard you repeat it, it does not become true, Curufinwë," Nolofinwë replied, with annoyance and lowered his eyes to his cock now fully erect and eager for liberation. “Are we going to end this once and for all?”  
“We are starting, my precious star.” Fëanáro's eyes lit up with something similar to an epiphany. “Today, your eyes will shine for me.”  


Nolofinwë was about to laugh, if that was not the worst mockery that his half-brother made him an object. Then he saw that Fëanáro put his hands to his forehead and when he withdrew them, the largest silmaril was between his fingers. The breath caught in Nolofinwë's chest as his brother descended on him to kiss him in the mouth.  


The gem burned his forehead, tearing a moan from him that died in his half-brother’s kiss. A wave of energy shook him, arching him to Fëanáro and suddenly, everything was in place once more: love, hate, pleasure ... _his soul._

 **XII**  


[Years ago. The day that Arakáno was conceived]

Fëanáro emptied the wine glass and looked for the cut glass bottle to serve himself again. He changed his mind and drank straight from the bottle until a trickle of red liquid ran from the corner of his mouth, sliding down to his bare chest. He wore the open tunic, loose on his shoulders and still wore most of the jewelry he wore during dinner. Only the silmarilli lay on the table in front of him, his glow almost facing him. He left the bottle on the floor and took a few steps towards the table. He extended a hand to caress the largest of the stones. His greatest work: the light of the Trees imprisoned in some gems. Laughter raised his broad chest; but it did not come out: the glow of the larger gem caught the breath in his throat as he turned toward the door.  


The wooden door hit the wall when it opened inwards. Nolofinwë remained on the threshold, one hand resting on the door as if seeking support, the other against his side. The unraveled hair fell to the waist, barely covering what the loose robe stripped.  


“Child”, Fëanáro said, his lips curving into a sensual smile. Nolofinwë looked at him with eyes darkened with anger and his gaze drifted to the jewels he saw his half-brother using that day in court.  
“What did you do to me?” The Grand Prince demanded in a hoarse voice. “What did you do to me, Curufinwë? Answer me!”  
“What do you mean?”  
“Your gems! A week ago, in ... in your workshop ... what did you do to me?” The pain replaced the anger while advancing with hesitant walking to reach the other male. “What have you done, brother? What sorcery did you use to ...?”  
“Nolvo, I do not understand you” denied the elder, impatient.  


Nolofinwë watched him for a few minutes and then looked back at the silmarilli. He extended a hand towards the stones and the light intensified. An animal sound left the livid lips of Nolofinwë, who covered his face with his hands, staggering.  


Fëanáro surrounded the muscular body with his arms, bringing him closer. The smell of sex flooded his nose and jealousy twisted in his chest.  


“Are you coming to me after fucking your wife?” He roared sinking his nose into his neck, inhaling the scent he knew so well.  
“You said it”, laughed Nolofinwë and his laughter was more bitter than crying. “ **Fuck.** I **fucked** with Anairë ... because I did not feel anything.” He raised his blue, icy eyes to Fëanáro's face. “Nothing, do you hear me? You have what you wanted: my son is now in my wife's womb and I did not feel pleasure, excitement... nothing. I took my wife, my soul’s mate... and I experienced nothing.” He concluded through clenched teeth.  


For a second, Fëanáro's arms loosened around his half-brother. His silver eyes drifted to the silmarilli and euphoria accelerated his heart. He tightened his embrace, forcing Nolofinwë's bare chest to attach his bare chest, for his half-hard sex to rub against his brother's thigh.  


“Your pleasure is with me” he declared in a passionate whisper. “Your love belongs to me, child; as it always should have been.”  


**XIII**  


[Present]

Pleasure circulated in Nolofinwë's blood. _Pleasure_. After months of feeling nothing, there was pleasure again in the shudder in his belly, in the warmth in his chest, in the delicious pressure in his scrotum, in the contractions that shook his cock as it sank into Fëanáro's throat.  


Fëanáro. The name also rolled in his blood, on his tongue. He tangled his fingers in his straight hair, slowly, until he could use them as reins to fuck his half-brother’s mouth. Oh Valar, he was fucking that delicious and smart mouth. His cock passed Fëanáro's throat, causing a moan that echoed throughout his body. He could ... he could come now, enjoy it ... after so much time, he could enjoy it...  


With an effort, he pushed Fëanáro aside. For a moment, Míriel's son remained stunned - mouth open, eyes clouded, hands trembling on Nolofinwë's thighs - but he finally swallowed to relieve the muscles in his throat and forced himself to face the now shining eyes of the younger elf.  


A malicious and lustful smile curved Nolofinwë's mouth. With slow, calculated gestures, Nolofinwë forced his half-brother back until they were both on their knees and then it was Fëanáro's turn to lie on his back.  
With a shudder of anticipation, Fëanáro opened his legs, offering himself in silence. Nolofinwë did not waste time in dabbling: in a single thrust, he sank into his brother's body. The world turned on both their heads. Nolofinwë surrendered at an unbridled, wild rhythm, unloading in Fëanáro the rage and desire, love and hatred that for a while returned to his spirit.  


The nails of Míriel's son tore the skin of his half-brother. The thrusts lifted his body from the bed, causing it to arch itself as desperate moans erupted from his lips. Then, Nolofinwë made him support the legs on his chest and descended to almost brush his mouth.  


“I hate you”, he laughed, cruel, savoring the eager glitter of the silver eyes of the elder. “I hate you, my brother ... my love.”  


Fëanáro erupted in ecstasy when he heard him. Minutes later, his brother joined him in the orgasm, the silmarilli bathing them with its incredible light.

 **XIV**  


[Second Age. Lindon]

Elrond sat on the bed, frowning when saw he was alone. He looked around, but the bedroom was as deserted as the other side of the bed. With a sigh, he sat up and covered his nudity with a turquoise silk robe before heading to where he knew he would find his mate.  


He stopped for a moment as he reached the battlement, gazing at the silhouette against the sky. Finally he came out.  
The High King of the Noldor did not react to his presence until the herald stopped behind him.  


“Cannot you sleep, Sire?”, the Half Elf asked in a soft voice.  


Gil-galad half turned his head to smile at him.  


“You know I cannot help it” he apologized.  
“Leave me alone in the bed after using me until I'm exhausted?” Elrond raised an eyebrow. “I'm starting to get used to it ... Sire.”  
“No”, laughed the sovereign, amused and turned in front of him to take him by the lapels of the robe and pull his body. “You seem surprisingly awake for someone exhausted, herald.”  
“It usually happens when the cold wakes me up, Sire.”  


The king smiled more broadly as he leaned over to kiss him. Elrond turned his face slightly and raised a hand to rest his fingers on his sovereign's lips.  


“You're right”, admitted Gil-galad, with a grimace. “Not here.”  
“Let's go back inside, Gil”, Elrond suggested. “Far from curious eyes we can kiss each other all you want.”

Gil-galad cocked his head to look at the sky.  


“There is very little left for it to rise.”  


Elrond almost hissed, furious.  


“I don't understand your obsession with ... that.”  
“And I do not understand your hate.”  
“Don't you understand it?” the herald almost laughed. “My mother preferred to save that stone before her children, Sire. How can I feel something more towards that ... **thing**? I know it's stupid to hate a stone, but ... "He opened his arms in an eloquent gesture.  
“ It's not just a stone, precious.”  
“Of course not. My father is using it in his head. Like the lamps that dwarves use in mines.”  
“True!” Gil-galad laughed. “But I did not mean that. The silmaril, Elrond, is more than a stone. It was what brought us here.”  
“And that went wonderfully well, from what I can see”, the younger one snorted.  
“Indeed.” The king smiled more softly while caressing the cheek of his lover with the back of the hand. “We have met, right?”  
“Do you say we're together thanks to the silmarilli?”, the other twisted his mouth.  
“My father used to tell me things about the Silmarilli, my dear; fantastic stories. I was too small and could not understand then; but my father said that our destiny, the destiny of our house, had been sealed on the day that Fëanor made the silmarilli.”  
“Because the Dark Vala was going to steal them years later and start this ... madness?  
“Because that day our house, the House of Fingolfin, was irremediably bound to the House of Fëanor. Whatever the fate of the Silmarilli would be, it would guide our steps.”  
“I met Maedhros and Maglor, Gil”, Elrond nodded. “I understand that your father ... that he ...”  
“But it was not just my father, precious”, the High King half-smiled. “As much as my father, my grandsire was also bound. It was **he** who was bound. My father said that Fëanor had captured him with unbreakable chains ...”  
“With chains of silima”, Elrond remembered of Maglor’s words and now he was who turned to the east to see the star rise. “My mother claimed that the silmaril had a soul, that it could ... hate… and love.”


End file.
